


A Little Death

by tatertatra



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Affairs, F/M, Fugue Feast (Dishonored), I love Vera Moray she deserves more orgasms, Smut, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatertatra/pseuds/tatertatra
Summary: He’s whispering secrets in her ear, all the things in the world no one else thinks she worthy of knowing.“They don’t deserve you,” he says.She has money and dresses and jewels and a husband with a powerful name, but she wants him. She wants heresy, to be crowned in the Void. But this is Fugue Feast and there’s no such thing has heresy.She licks her lips. “I know.”





	A Little Death

The Outsider watches her over the gilded rim of a wine glass and it coils at the base of her spine. Her husband’s hands wind around her waist, pulling her gaze back to his. She sits in his lap feeding him Serkonan honey cakes. His tongue moves sloppily against her fingers.

Preston Moray is drunk and boring and nowhere near as dangerous as the man watching from the shadows of the room. She pretends her husband’s tongue is his.

The Fugue Feast burns in the air like liquor in throats, so their eyes graze over just another strange figure in the crowd; the man circling the ballroom with intent to steal Lady Moray away like the spring.

Vera licks the last bit of honey from her fingers with a smile and untangles herself from her husband’s lap. She searches the room until she finds him again. Black, depthless eyes behind a feathered mask. The music swells and by the time the mass of half-naked, dancing bodies sweep by, she’s slipped down the hall towards the study.

Someone breaks a vase and the crowd roars in delight. No one notices as the man follows behind Lady Moray, mask dropped to the floor, with his hands tangled in the chiffon skirt of her dress.

\---

They near slam the door to the study behind them. They tangle in each other. Her mouth tastes like honey and wine, her fingers burn against his skin. His mouth finds her neck and she laughs.

She tugs on his hair until he looks up at her. “I take it you’re enjoying the party.”

He presses his lips against hers. Once, twice, bruising. “I have a most gracious hostess.”

Laughter again, until he catches her bottom lip with his teeth. She tries in earnest to breathe him in, to get caught up in the coldness of him. His hands press against the lowest curve of her back, exposed through her backless dress. She shivers against him.

 _Preston never touches her like this_ , she thinks. He never makes her ache so bad she wants to step out of her own skin.

He moves them across the room until he spins her, pinning her back against his chest and facing her against the great mirror that hangs on the wall. She gasps and catches herself against the glass. The jewels on her fingers catch the low candlelight. Through the reflection, she catches his eyes. One hand is next to hers on the mirror, holding himself up while the other runs the line of her body.

His grin crawls all the way to her belly.

In a swift motion, he slides the hand under her skirt, smoothing over the flesh of her hips.  He leaves behind a trail of goosebumps on her skin. His touch lingers in the space below her bellybutton.

She writhes back, mouth gaped open and breathing hard. “Please,” she hisses.

He dips lower for the briefest of moments, teasing, before he withdraws again. “Please what?”

She turns to look at his face, tucked in the space between her neck and shoulder. When he looks up, there’s a sunset-colored mark on her skin.

 _Mine_ , it says. _Not his_.

Her mouth seeks his, desperate and biting. Despite everything in him that is cold, hard-edged and otherworldly, his tongue is soft and warm.

 _Never his_.

She pulls back breathless and stares hard enough to ignite him. “Touch me.”

He’s almost tender. His fingers run the same path down her belly, trailing feather-light across the skin above her smalls.

“Vera,” he says softly. Heat pools at her core, and he slips past her waistband.

The noise that escapes her is delicate in a way neither expects. She catches the affectionate look on his face before her eyes flutter closed.

Perhaps it isn’t love, but it is something languid and gentle despite themselves.

Her neck is bared to him again, head pressed against his shoulder. Her chest swells rapidly, panting. For a moment her eyes open, half-lidded and blown-out from desire. He swirls around her clit, working in the slickness of her until her hips buck against his hand.

She grits out a curse that melts into a moan.

He clamps a hand over her mouth and stifles the noise. “Do you want your husband to hear?”

She pries her mouth away, staring wildly at him through their reflection in the mirror. “Fuck my husband,” she rasps.

“Maybe if you did we wouldn’t have this problem.”

A dark laugh slides from the back of her throat. His fingers curl against her and the laugh dies just outside her lips, swallowed by another breathy groan. Fingers work fervently to throw her over the edge, to set her nerves on fire.

He’s whispering secrets in her ear, all the things in the world no one else thinks she worthy of knowing.

“They don’t deserve you,” he says.

She has money and dresses and jewels and a husband with a powerful name, but she wants _him_. She wants heresy, to be crowned in the Void. But this is Fugue Feast and there’s no such thing has heresy.

She licks her lips. “I know.”

He finds the spot she likes best and her cry dances across the room.

She comes against his hand, head thrown back against him while he grins smugly against her neck. Sweat-slicked and shaking, she misses the feel of him as he slides from her skirt. She catches herself in the mirror, cheeks flushed and curled hair spilling from the diamond pins that had taken hours to arrange.

She feels wicked and delicious and spent.

“You’re a cruel man,” she says, unable to keep the smirk from her lips.

His teeth nip at her earlobe before slipping away, but he doesn’t reply.

She pretends to be busy fixing herself in the mirror, rearranging her dark hair and wiping off the smear of lipstick on her chin. Instead, she fusses absentmindedly while she watches him move across the room.

He studies the painting of Preston’s father for a moment, face unreadable.

When he breaks the silence, it’s not what she expects. “You should return to your festivities. Your husband will be looking for you.”

She smiles at him, settling her weight to one leg and jutting her hip out. “I’d rather stay in here with you.”

He vanishes and reappears before her, blackened dust drifting around him. He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her jeweled knuckles. “You’ll see me again.”

Her free hand sifts through his hair, tracing the shape of his jaw when he rises to look at her. There’s a small part of her heart that aches for true affection, for what they both know they cannot give. “I’ll dream of you.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle. “I know.”

And then he is gone.

She stands for a moment in the new silence, watching the flame behind a sconce flicker. When he’s gone, she feels too big for her body. The world’s secrets ring in her ears and her mind churns for more than her husband, her friends, and her enemies think she is capable of understanding. It’s near despair.

She shakes her head and sets her shoulders, sparing one last look in the mirror. Color still sits high on her cheeks, her hair still wild teased from his hands. Greasy smears mark the mirror.

Vera Moray grins and slips out of the room, knowing her husband will find a pair of handprints on the mirror of his study.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo I've been working on this for a few months and I'm tired of it sitting in my drafts. I've actually never written smut before, so I hope you all....enjoyed???? Was it good for you?? I don't know, it's late and this hasn't been beta'd.  
> Enjoy!  
> Find me on tumblr: tatraas


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